You & I
by WarriorSteph
Summary: In an epic duel between childhood rivals, Costia and Clarke find themselves stuck in a tug of war for the ultimate prize, Lexa Woods. Contains romance, comedy and angst.
1. Prologue

Have you ever met that one person who has the ability to make your skin crawl? Seriously, just their mere presence causes your blood to boil like pot of water on a hot, burning stove? The incredulous thought of having to interact with them creates such a stir of emotions, you can feel the tall tale signs of rage induced panic twisting tightly around your lungs?

Unfortunately, Clarke has. She has had the insurmountable fortune of dealing with such feelings towards a certain person in particular. As a result, it only takes two words, _two words_ , for her vision to turn crimson.

Costia. Greene.

A tale as old as time. You can question, interrogate, anyone around about this legendary rivalry. Yet, no one is sure of the exact origins of this love/hate, well mostly hate, relationship. If you were to question Clarke, Costia was a threat, an enemy, and her strongest competitor.

Tall. Lanky. Flawless skin. She could pretty much wear a paper bag or potato sack to class and still look drop, dead gorgeous. Costia Green, with her perfectly straight, pearly whites, strong jawline and piercing green eyes was a model of perfection. As if sculpted by Aphrodite, people have compared to her to a damn mermaid or a goddess.

But, it's not her looks that irk Clarke. Oh no, that was definitely not it. Clarke could appreciate beauty as well as give credit when it's due. She could not deny the immense attractiveness of her arch enemy. It's not like Clarke was a blonde headed Medusa causing people to turn to stone from the sheer ugliness engulfing her face. On the contrary, with her busty, curvy physique, crystal clear blue orbs, golden locks, and charming smile, she was stunning as well. Clarke, a leader, had no obstacles in attracting the opposite or same sex.

So, you ask yourself, what could it possibly be?

Well, like psychiatrists, you could probably examine past experiences to pin point the exact moment acquaintance turned to foe. However, you would probably be waiting eighty-four years or so. You see, Clarke's hatred is rooted deep within the core of her being. Obstacles and challenges she faced stemmed from one person and one person only. It seemed every time Clarke would shine, a huge, black, ominous rain cloud named Costia sauntered by. Leaving a devastated Clarke to pick up the pieces of destruction that Hurricane Green left behind. No matter how driven, how determined, or how valiantly she fought, Clarke always claimed the title of second best.

For instance,...

In third grade, Clarke received an award for student of the month. Absolutely spilling with joy, Clarke showed off this accomplishment to everyone she knows. Yet, her proud moment turned sour when Costia waddled over in her pink frilly tutu and bouncing brown curls with a sly smirk gracing her lips. Arms filled with ribbons accompanied by several certificates, Costia thrusted these treasures forward. It seemed not only did she win first place in her soccer tournament, she received student of the month in Mathematics, English, and History as well. Dropping the cherry on top, she also received awards for class participation and perfect attendance. Clarke's mood deflated quickly as her best friends began to touch Costia's ribbons in awe. With her chubby cheeks and pigtails, she walked away with her shoulders hunched forward and head down, barely clutching the award.

Unfortunately, it would only escalate from there.

When Clarke won the prestigious honor of being accepted into an art competition, tirelessly, she worked day and night on her masterpiece. That night, after munching on a few chocolate chip cookies, Clarke discovered a red ribbon for second place pressed against her canvas. With a toothy grin, innocent blue eyes gazed upon the painting of a dolphin leaping out the sea. Yet, despite hating art, Costia's painting of a pink flower appeared in the art show as well. Unfortunately, it won the hearts of the judges for her to claim first. During a photo with the circle of winners, an eye-twitching Clarke fantasied about wrapping her pudgy hands around that slim neck and squeezing until Costia, like a fish out of water, gasped for air. Art was Clarke's specialty. Unlike her foe, Clarke wasn't a nimble little flamingo who succeeded in every damn sport. By the end of the night, she found herself being dragged from the gallery. After Costia claimed to be an art connoisseur, she studied the graceful dolphin closely. With a high pitched fake tone and sly smirk, she had the audacity to say, "I guess we know who is a real artist, better luck next time Clarke." Whispering loud enough for Clarke to hear, she remarked, "it's not that good compared to mine." As she strutted away with her giggling friends, Raven and Octavia leapt up to grab a scowling Clarke from lunging for a pair of scissors.

As the years passed, this competition shifted from art to school.

Receiving numerous amounts of ninety-sixes for most of her marks, Clarke rarely had difficulty in classes. However, relentless studying did not change the fact Costia was always lurking around with a bright red ninety-eight. As if it was a mission, she would flip her hair with a smug grin, "better luck next time Clarke," or "at least you tried." By the end of freshmen year, Clarke was seriously contemplating using a mechanical pencil as a shiv. Nonetheless, one semester Clarke found herself struggling. There came the day someone made a very inconsiderate and stupid comment. Since Abby, Clarke's mom, was still good friends with Costia's mother, she suggested Clarke ask Costia to tutor her. After being backhanded by that remark as if it was a salty fish, Clarke bitterly responded, "I rather be hung by my toenails." And with that, she did not speak to her mom for almost a week.

And then came the day Clarke bought Old Bertha.

After saving enough of earnings from the Trikru Ice Cream and Things Parlor, Clarke happily purchased her first car, Old Bertha. Despite coming from a wealthy family of surgeons and engineers, Clarke's parents agreed to pay half. One character building lecture later, she settled on a use- I'm sorry, previously owned, four-year-old gray sedan. Sure the bumper was black instead of gray, the interior may have been peeling off and there was a rather suspicious red stain in trunk, but Clarke was ecstatic. Yet, the first day she drove her friends to class, Costia, also having a wealthy background, pulled up in a brand new, sleek, black Camaro. Thus, causing all of her peers, Clarke's friends included, to ogle and praise Costia for her sweet ride. And Costia just stood there with a smug smirk, leaning causally against the hood as the wind blew against her brown wavy locks effortlessly. "It was a gift for getting perfect grades," she giggled. Clarke barely managed to get inside of the school before exploding in a fit of rage by repeatedly kicking a trashcan. Which, for the record, she ended up in detention for her cursing as well as the intent of damaging school property. Apparently, there was a zero tolerance for bullying and violence, including inanimate objects.

Therefore, as one could see, the history between these two has been less than ideal. It always seemed there was Costia perched upon the hill on her throne. Every so often, she would swiftly kick rather large stones down the steep depression. A struggling Clarke would make it halfway up the rocky path before the quake of a tumbling rock would cease her efforts. Eyes wide, arms flailing comically with her mouth agape and wild hair, she frantically sprinted back down. Sometimes, Clarke would not be so lucky in her dodging. Currently, no longer freshmen, both girls have established a "place" in the chain of high school royalty.

Costia, being head cheerleader bestowed with unbelievably attractive features, a large trust fund, and immense popularity, resided on top. In her opinion, girls either want to be her or hate her. Obviously, she only surrounds herself with jocks and fellow cheerleaders. It is rare for her to step down from her throne, more like a self-made pedestal, to grace the peasants with her ever so friendly and inviting personality.

Clarke, on the other hand, found herself a nice, cozy spot in third. With her eclectic group of friends, she is well-known by most, a scholar, an artist, and maybe a bit of a nerd. Her gang consists of Raven, the mad scientist, Octavia, the warrior, Jasper and Monty, the double geek twins and no they aren't related, Belamey, the jock, Finn, his bitch, and Murphy, the asshole. Of course there were floaters, people who bounced around to different groups throughout the year, joining her group daily.

Nonetheless, junior year would cause this boiling, pent up rivalry to finally climax in an epic battle. Oh yes my faithful reader, this is where the journey begins. With the arrival of a new family at Arkadia High, Clarke, hopefully, would prevail in this sadistic game of fate victoriously. Yes, the presence of this highly athletic, intelligent young woman will cause tensions to rise to new heights. Because for once, after a relentless decade of rival hood, both girls were gunning for the same prize.

Lexa Woods.

And you can best believe, Clarke never wanted nothing more than to claim first.


	2. Chapter 1

Already, the first day of junior year has not been kind to Clarke. A stressful morning left the blonde feeling a strong urge to go home, burrow under her covers and give up on today. Despite setting her alarm clock at a punctual six-thirty, the blonde awoke only twenty minutes before she had to leave. After a quick shower, she bounced on one leg as she tried to pull on jeans with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and one arm through the sleeve of her shirt. Stubbing her pinky toe twice and slipping on the rug in the hallway, the blonde sprinted out the door without breakfast. Then, apparently, Clarke's trusty steed, Old Bertha, chose not to turn on. After waving her arms wildly, cursing the heavens, and repeatedly kicking the tire of the car, she had the pleasure of walking to school.

Unbeknownst to the frustrated girl, there would a small storm passing quickly through the city. Halfway there, curiously, Clarke glanced up to see menacing, stormy gray clouds looming overhead. A split second ago, the warm yellow fireball in the sky was beaming down. And yet, a few moments later, a loud thunder clap rumbled causing the blonde to jump slightly. All of a sudden, those black pillows released its wrath of torrential downpour. Another roar emits from the sky as water droplets fall at a rapidly, pelting unsuspecting pedestrians. Across the street, wide eyed and mouth agape, a homeless man and innocent bystanders witnessed a random blonde, drenched from head to toe, pointing up at the sky, screaming expletives, and waving her arms in a frenzy.

Sprinting down the street, the mad women safely made it indoors. Still relatively early, Clarke headed straight to the bathroom. Inside, three stalls lined one side and a row of sinks on the other. Next to the full length mirror was two hand dryers. With a sigh, the blonde knew what she had to do. As girls filed in to primp and gossip, they witnessed a blonde, hair askew, hunched under the hand dryer in attempts to dry her wet clothes. Squatting like Gollum, Clarke scowls at each and every one of them. Unfortunately, she misses first period, causing the blonde to duck behind people, press against walls, and dive into empty classrooms in avoidance of the homeroom teacher. Thankfully, after texting Octavia, the brown haired warrior, a cold Clarke snuggles into the warmth of her Arkadia High sweatshirt. Conveniently, the blonde had left it in, Octavia's older brother, Bellamey's car. Taking this moment as the turning point of the day, the Clarke happily crossed the threshold into Art Appreciation. However, her great mood soured quickly four uneventful class periods later.

Finally, it is time for lunch. Loud chatter of several conversations, giggles, and slamming of lockers fill the air while teachers attempt to clear the way. Waiting patiently at her locker is Octavia Blake. After O punched Murphy in second grade when he yanked on Clarke's pigtails, they became inseparable. Now, several years later, the fearless girl has become one of her longest and closets friends. Casually, the black haired girl leans against the row of lockers while playing with her phone. She absentmindedly runs the zipper of her black leather jacket up and down, waiting patiently. Smiling to herself, the blonde watches as she elbows her way through the pods of students standing in the middle of the hall.

"Please tell me your day has been a hell of a lot better than mine," Clarke says approaching.

Hazel eyes glance up, "I would definitely say so since a picture of me hunched under an air dryer, scowling like a troll under a bridge, is not posted for everyone to see."

"Damn cell phones."

Octavia smiles watching the blonde open her locker, "Someone sent it as a snapchat, which turned into a screenshot that landed on the school's website."

Slamming her locker closed, Clarke shuts her eyes. Feeling a boiling of frustration, the blonde clenches her jaw. So, she counts, _one, two, three inhale, and one, two, three exhale._ With eyes still screwed shut, her head leans back slightly before the pale forehead connects with the cool metal. Clattering noisily against the force, she pulls away. Upon the pale skin is a small tinge of red.

"This day needs to end," she mutters.

A warm hand shoots out to stop her, "It's Monday, what can you expect?"

"Yeh, I guess. Come on, let's go to lunch."

Tugging on her arm, Octavia pulls the blonde closer, maneuvering through the halls. Reluctantly, Clarke allows herself to be dragged as she pulls the hood overhead. She sighs softly when they entered the bustling cafeteria. Smalls groups of teens filled the space. Most sitting down at the long grey tables. Loudly, kids talked, laughed, and gossiped. Various pods of girls sat with their arms raised high to take a selfie. Most likely, others spent their free time scrolling through various platforms of social media. It was a madhouse. Each group of people remained with their own table. Jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, if you stayed in your zone, lunch went by smoothly. Glancing over, three different long lines leading to the food station. A slight groan comes from her best friend upon seeing this as well.

A waving hand catches her eye, "Raven is over there."

Making their way over, the mechanic smiles at her approaching friends. Tugging her baseball tee down, smoothing out her ponytail, Raven pushes Jasper out of the way. Meeting Raven Reyes was quite an experience considering the blone has never met anyone like the her. Snarky, sarcastic, slightly crude, and a genius, this gorgeous girl could hotwire a car and create a homemade explosive. Which, the outlandish and brash behavior of the brunette is how they all met. At the ripe age of twelve, Octavia and Clarke found themselves the target of a young boy named Murphy. And apparently, the two girls were not alone. Sticky fingers Murphy had a habit of stealing Raven's first tool set when she wasn't looking. One day, Clarke and Octavia, spotted a young Raven, dressed in overalls with one dangling, snickering behind a tree. Seemingly, a devious little Reyes had placed dog feces in a brown paper bag, lit it on fire, and knocked on Murphy's door. All three of them watched as Murphy opened the door, screamed, and stomped on the bag barefoot. And at that very moment, Clarke and Octavia became friends with the little pyromaniac. As they approach the two, the blonde feels herself relax.

"Hug?" Raven asks opening her arms.

The dejected blonde walks straight into her while Jasper whistles lowly. Leaning back, curious blue eyes follow his gaze to see Costia strutting towards them, posse in tow. _Great._ Decked out in her uniform, consisting of a dark blue short skirt and matching top with the words Arkadia High on display, Green dismissively waves her hand. Automatically, the crowd of students scurry out of the way for the school's royalty. Most afraid of committing social suicide and others fearful of her wrath. It was written in stone, Costia did not play fair. _A manipulative, power hungry, selfish, callous, fake bitch,_ Clarke thinks. Unfortunately, almost immediately, their eyes meet. And while the blonde struggles to suppress an eye roll, Costia purposefully makes her way over. Stopping in front of the blonde, she lifts her hand to silence the group behind her. A smug smile plays at the red stained lips. Raven tenses as Octavia stands between the artist and the cheerleader.

"Keep it moving Green," O barked.

An exasperated sigh leaves the blonde's lips.

Costia smirks, "Why so hostile Blake? Is it because you know this year will be no different from the last and you will always be your brother's little shadow?"

A snicker from the cheerleaders fill the cafeteria as Octavia clenches her fists. And with that, Clarke pulls away from the warm, comforting embrace of the mechanic to handle the brewing situation. Touching O's balled fist, the blonde pushes herself between the two.

"What do you want Costia?"

The cheerleader flips her hair over her shoulder, "I just wanted to congratulate you. I mean, it's the first day of classes and you have managed to humiliate yourself already. Brava Clarke, you have out done yourself."

Letting out a harsh breath through her nostrils, Clarke contemplates whether the principal would go easy on her, since it is the first day, if she was to slug Costia in the face.

"Look, I am not in the mood to deal with your superiority complex today. So why don't you and the blood suckers keep moving?"

Costia stares at the blonde, still smirking. _Oh what she would give to wipe that stupid smirk off her face_. But, before another word can escape either girls' lips, a deep voice breaks the tension.

"Everything all right here girls?"

Marcus Kane, a history teacher, patiently stands there with a neutral expression. Meeting his eyes, Clarke gives a small nod in reassurance.

"Everything is good with me."

Kane glances over, "And you Ms. Green?"

Blue eyes flicker back to see Costia flip her hair over her shoulder with a wide grin, "Of course Mr. Kane. We were just getting lunch."

"Good then you can come stand on the end of the line right now."

Costia's smile falters as Clarke's smirks. The blonde relishes in the feeling of justice being served. With a quick nod to her friends, the cheerleader pushes her way towards the end of the line. A hidden thumbs up from Kane causes the blonde to smile in return.

"What a bitch," Raven mutters quietly.

Uneventfully, the rest of lunch flew by. Sitting with her friends at lunch lifted the blonde's spirits quite a bit. As the last class of the day approaches, she walks into the silent room. Spotting Raven towards the back, Clarke automatically goes to take the empty seat next to her. Upon hearing movement, the mad scientist glances up with a playful grin.

"Long time no see."

Clarke plops down, drops her head against the desk and grunts in response. Rae chuckles softly while reaching out to rub the blonde's back.

"Rough day?"

A snort, "That's an understatement. And brilliantly me decides to agree to help Jasper out after class instead of going straight home."

The blonde lifts her head to look at Raven, "Do you think you can do me a favor Rae Rae, the smartest, prettiest, and coolest person I know?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere with me," the mechanic replies laughing. "What's up?"

Clarke clicks her tongue, "Well, you see, Old Berth-"

"Oh god no, Clarke," the girl interrupts groaning. "Please tell me you took it to the garage last week like I told you since the starter needed to be replaced."

"Yeh, about tha-"

"For fuck sakes," Raven sighs, "I'll order the part tonight and fix it over the weekend."

"Thank you, thank you. You just made my day."

Clarke flung her arms around her best friend while peppering the side of her face with kisses. Raven fakes a pleasurable moan.

"Jesus! If fixing your car gets you this excited, why don't you let me come over and unclog your pipes?"

 _And there it was._ Clarke elbows her friend slightly as the brunette lets out a hearty laugh. At that moment, the loud screech of the bell rings once again. Unlike most classrooms, the lime green walls are bare. No posters, no signs, nothing, just two windows, five perfectly straight rows of six single desks, a mahogany desk with a calendar and a basket sits in front and a white board hangs against the wall behind it. Towards the back of the room, a stack of thick, heavy textbooks waits to be handed out. Silently, with a grumpy expression, Pike watches students trickle in. A shake of the head or click of the tongue displays his displeasure for teaching, especially teens. Slackers, he thinks. All of them are slackers. Relishing in the frowns upon some faces when the realization hits of being placed in his biology course. After elbowing Raven, Clarke places it on the smooth surface and leans her cheek against her hand. Immediately, Pike stands up with a menacing glare.

"Welcome. I will be passing out the syllabus. Don't lose this packet. Enclosed are the expectations of this course, reading material, assignments, and grading system. I will repeat, do not lose this packet. I will not be giving them out again. So don't bother coming to me whining or begging for another. You all are almost adults act like it. Now, you have a few moments to read it over as I take attendance. After, you can ask me any questions you may have."

Grabbing the packet from the girl in front, a noise grabs her attention. Inquisitive blue eyes flicker over to the slight creak of the door opening. And suddenly, her mouth dries. _Oh._ With shoulders back, head held high, a young woman steps in and closes the door quietly. A sleek, fitted black leather jacket covers a slim torso and black skinny jeans hug long legs. Clarke's eyes flicker over to the brown hair that twists into an elaborate braid and lays against a broad shoulder. _Wow._ Swiftly, tugging her black satchel over her head, the brunette weaves through to an empty seat. A dissatisfied noise of aggravation comes from the front of the room as Pike glares.

"Well since you decided to be late to my class. How about you introduce yourself?"

Quietly, everyone turns their attention to the new girl who stands up unfazed. Clarke licks her lips, staring intensely. Lifting her head high, posture rigid, emerald green eyes dance around the room observing. Before their gaze can meet, Clarke finds herself ducking head down. _Shit._ Curious emerald eyes linger upon the golden tresses while a neutral expression graces her features. Almost as if, she is preparing a speech to address the nation. Cautiously, once again, the blonde lifts her gaze to catch a strong jaw clench slightly.

"I'm Lexa Woods. I would like to apologize for my tardiness Professor. If you would kindly excuse my rude behavior. You see, it is my first day at Arkadia High and I'm having a little trouble navigating through the halls. I'm sorry."

Strange tickles of butterfly wings erupt deep in the blonde's belly upon hearing that soft, firm, and husky voice. _So elegant. So strong._ Unlike most new students, Lexa stands tall, almost regal, confidently making her presence known. Almost demanding the attention with her dominance as she glowers at her peers. A shiver runs down the blonde's spine as the girl commands the room. Feeling a sharp elbow to her side, Clarke quickly glances over at the mechanic. Blue eyes watch as Raven mouths the word, _hot. That does not even begin to describe the leather wearing goddess_.Swallowing thickly, Clarke looks over at Pike who stands there completely caught off guard, blinking rapidly.

"I see, yes, well, next time, I won't be so lenient. Where have you moved from?"

A curt nod, "Thank you and Polis, sir."

Pike clears his throat, "Very good. Yes, well, welcome to Arkadia. Now sit down and go over the syllabus."

Lexa disappears from Clarke's sight. _Damn._ A small bubble of disappointment forms in the bit of her stomach. On the other side of the room, Lexa, slinks back into the seat and unzips her leather jacket. Glancing to her right, a smirking Anya, her cousin, mockingly shakes her head disapprovingly. Throwing a glare, the brunette turns her attention towards the front.

With a clipboard, Pike grumbles, "Alright slackers, when I call your name please stand up and give one fact about yourself."

As the teacher drones on, back on the other side of the room, Clarke fidgets slightly. She feels a small pull in the pit of her stomach, urging her for another glimpse of the girl. Subtly arching her back to stretch, she leans back against the chair. Turning her head to the left, the blonde makes every attempt to catch a glimpse of the brunette. Except someone with dirty blonde hair is blocking her view. She scowls slightly, _damn it_. A soft snicker catches her attention. Raven, watching closely, throws a playful smirk. _Busted_. Sitting up quickly, the blonde eyes her friend ripping a piece of paper and proceeds to scribble.

A few seconds later, a note drops onto Clarke's desk.

 _Totally subtle Griff. Thirsty much?_

Clarke narrows her eyes and hastily writes back.

 _I have no idea what you are talking about, Mrs. Hudson._

Pike calls out, "Griffin."

Moving to stand up, the blonde pushes her hands into the pouch of her sweatshirt. A warm heat travels throughout her body as all eyes turn to stare. Swallowing thickly, Clarke catches herself thinking about the possibility of those emerald eyes watching her.

"Hey I'm Clarke and an artist."

Sinking back down her seat, she opens the note.

 _First of all, if you ever call me that again, I will cut the brake line on Old Bertha. Second, I wouldn't be talking, Mrs. Woods. You got a thing for the Commander over there._

"Green," Pike calls out again.

Groaning inwardly as she scribbles a question down.

 _Commander?_

"Well, you all should know me. But, for all of those who don't," she winks towards Lexa's direction. "I'm Costia, head cheerleader. Let's go Arkadia High!"

Loud claps from excited football players fill the room as others whistles in delight. A slight chant of Arkadia begins lowly. Aggravated, Pike rubs his forehead as the noise grows. Slamming his fist against his desk, a yell of enough echoes. Immediately, the rowdy class quiets down as a frightened Costia quickly takes her seat. Clarke finds herself wickedly smirking at the sight.

"Thank you, now, Hudson."

A floppy, brown haired boy in a football jersey stands up, "I'm Finn, and that pretty lady in the red jacket over there is my girlfriend Raven."

Pike rolls his eyes as the class whistles and hoots. The blonde shakes her head with a small smile as Raven sticks her tongue out. Raven and Finn, the school's most notorious on and off again couple, have had a tumultuous relationship from the start. After a strange encounter in the principal's office, romantic feelings began to blossom. However, only a few months in, the mechanic found him in bed with a one of the cheerleaders. Despite him being a womanizer, a Don Juan, a modern day hot-headed Lothario, Raven always takes him back. Leaving Clarke to wonder if she will ever learn. And yet hoping one day the mechanic will realize that she deserves better.

"Thank you Mr. Hudson for that riveting detail. Now sit."

Finn throws the brunette a wink before taking a seat.

Pike calls out, "Reyes."

"Yo, Raven here. I like to fix shit and blow things up. Holla at me sometime."

Plopping back down in her seat, laughter fills the air. Even the blonde chuckles softly at her best friend's brazen antics. However, Pike glances up from the clipboard to give her a pointed look.

"Language Reyes,"

She salutes, "aye, aye Cap, won't happen again."

Tapping her pencil against the desk, a note drops down once again.

 _Yeah, Lexa, she is known as the Commander in Polis. Before moving here, she went Grounder High, our rival school. Don't you remember? Last year, when O played for the school's softball team, she kept bitching about the Grounders kicking their ass in the championship game. Apparently, the Commander is a star athlete. O should be happy this year._

Eyes widen in realization; Clarke bites her lip. Octavia spent a whole week, relentlessly, complaining about Lexa the Commander. Repetitively saying, how she wished the brunette was on their softball team. Hastily, she scribbles back a response.

 _What a small world._

Raven throws her a sly grin before writing something else.

 _I'll just assume you will be attending all of O's softball games this year. Huh? Need some of the Commanderade to quench that thirst._

Scoffing at the remark, Clarke draws a very elaborate middle finger, which causes the mechanic to snicker.

"Woods."

Anxious blue orbs look to the opposite side of them room where the brunette is standing tall once again. Clarke lets out a shaky breath when her gaze lands on plump lips. _So kissable._ Feeling a warm tug deep in her belly, she rubs her sweaty palms against her jeans. _Look away, Clarke_. _Look away_ , she wills herself, trying to avoid inappropriate from entering her mind. With a stoned expression, Lexa's eyes flicker over to the blonde in the corner. If one was to look close enough, they would see the small lifting of the corners of her mouth. A tiny, almost minuscule, smile graces the serious features.

"Yeh, I'm Lexa," She pauses, "I like art."

Curious emerald eyes remain fixated on the young girl as their gaze locks. Throwing the blonde a wink, almost comically, blue orbs widen like saucers. _Oh my god._ A small gasp spills from her lips. The wild beating of her heart causes pale cheeks to flush. _Did she?_ Clearly caught off guard, a fit of coughs erupts as Raven chokes on her drink. Quickly, ducking her head, the blonde finds the top of the tan desk very interesting. _Did she?_

A note breaks her thoughts.

 _Looks like the Commander has her eyes set on a Princess. Are you sure you don't need some of that Commanderade? You seem a bit parched. I got your favorite flavor, Lemon Lexi._

Throwing a death glare at Raven who is grinning like a banshee, pale fingers slither through the blonde locks nervously. Her hand tugs slightly at the tangles while the artist's mind drifts elsewhere. As if unsure of what she witnessed, Clarke replays the scene from a few minutes ago again. _Did she? No, she couldn't possibly,_ a slight pause, _maybe?_ She has her reservations, her doubts. However, as the blonde deciphers reality from fantasy, she fails to notice the fiery gaze blazing from the front. Scowling, Costia Green frowns deeply at the flustered artist. Before that little stunt, the cheerleader had been shooting the brunette flirty smiles, which caused Lexa to raise an eyebrow questionably. Now, silently plotting, Costia's eyes menacingly remain on her newest target and oldest foe.

A loud shrill of the final bell blares noisily, breaking the silence and stillness of the halls. Doors fling open wide while students herd out of their classrooms. Loud chatter, the clatter of metal doors slamming closed, and the scuffling of feet, leaves the blonde haired artist elbowing through the crowd. Going against the herd, Clarke hates that she decided to agree to assist one of the various clubs to hang banners and flyers. She mentally curses herself for allowing Jasper's puppy dog eyes to sway her decision. A woman on a mission, she heads towards the auditorium while carrying a box of flyers and banners displaying bold, red letters screaming Battle of the Bands.

"Jasper!"

Leaning against the wall is a black haired, tall, lanky boy with goggles perched upon his head. Red over the ear headphones wrap around his neck, hiding the protruding Adam's apple jutting out of the slim neck. Glancing up, he happily skips over, "Here let me grab that."

Clarke let out a soft sigh of relief as she hands over the box.

"Did you get the ladder from the janitor?"

With a grimace, Jasper sways slightly unsure, "Yeh, uh, about that."

Giving the boy a pointed look, he bites his bottom lip and toys with the staple gun.

"The Janitor said he will not be allowing the students to use the ladder after the incident last year with the football team."

Right, of course, how could she have forgotten last year. Apparently, the football team tricked the Janitor into allowing them to use the ladder to hang decorations in the quad to celebrate their championship win. However, they failed to mention the small detail that decorations meant dildos and celebration meant senior prank. Thus, you can probably imagine the look on everyone's faces upon arrival the next day. Dangling from the tall, hunched trees that littered the quad were dildos in various sizes and colors. Then, the football team proceeded to run around, weaving through the trees, in their jockstraps. It was safe to say that half of the team did not attend senior prom.

"Great so how the hell are we going to hang this?" Clarke asks rubbing her temples to relieve the building stress.

Jasper's eyes lit up proudly as he points to the corner, "I got a chair."

Leaning against the wall is your average metal folding chair, which causes Clarke to narrow her eyes at the boy. _Overall, he is a sweet boy, except stupid._ _Very, very stupid._

"Do you see how high the entrance to the door is? You really expect us to be able to reach up there?"

Once again, he shuffles nervously, "Uh."

"What is it now?"

"You know, I am, uh," he leans forward as brown eyes dart around, "I'm afraid of heights."

"Seriously Jasper?!"

Jumping back slightly due to the blonde's outburst, the lanky boy gives a tiny shrug and a apologetic look. Letting out a harsh breath through her nose, Clarke snatches the semi-rolled banner.

"Hold the chair and I swear to God if I fall off-"

He interrupts her, "Your ass seems to have some nice cushion."

Glancing back down, the shaggy haired boy eying her backside like a four course meal. Yanking off the light blue Arkadia High sweatshirt, leaving her in a low cut, light blue short sleeved shirt and tight jeans.

She responds sharply, "I am going to pretend I did not hear that."

Throwing the banner over her shoulder and grasping the staple gun, the blonde kicks the open chair towards the wall.

"So did ya hear what happened to Murphy?"

Placing her right foot on the chair, she lets out a grunt in response while hoisting herself up. Leaning back slightly, Clarke studies the wall to try to decipher how to complete this task without a damn ladder. _Let's see._ Flipping the golden locks back, curious eyes scans over the surface of the door.

"I heard Pike gave Murphy two weeks of detention because he was late to class this morning."

She retorts, "in all fairness, Murphy is never on time. He also seems to be allergic to school."

A light chuckle fills her ears before Jasper begins to ramble about his band. Quickly tuning him out, Clarke hoists the banner over her shoulder. Of course the club had to choose the longest banner she has ever seen for display. Pushing the staple gun between her legs, pale fingers tug at right side of the banner as two pale arms reached upwards towards the corner of the door. _You got this,_ she thought, _easy peasy lemon squeezey_. Grasping the gun without dropping the banner, she pushes forward onto her tippy toes. Under the weight, the metal emits a soft whine. Willing for her arms to extend higher, she huffs in frustration. _Just a little bit higher._ Poking her tongue out in concentration, _almost there, just a little bit more_. With one hand gripping the staple gun, juggling the banner on her shoulder, and stretching one arm upward upon her tippy toes on a folding chair, seems is a recipe for disaster. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Clarke, her "oh so helpful" friend Jasper catches a glimpse of the cheerleading squad entering the building. Particularly, one girl with wavy brown locks catches the eye of the black haired boy. Salivating like a diseased animal upon seeing such a short skirt, almost magically, he floats across the room.

Clarke continues her battle with the banner, which she is clearly losing. Biting down on the fabric to prevent it from sliding off her shoulder, once again, she rolls on the balls of her feet to balance on her toes and stretches upwards. Internally, she curses herself for have average length arms. Seriously contemplating jumping up and hope for the best, one more time, Clarke rolls back onto her heels and thrusts forward onto her toes. Stretching even more, finally, the banner falls in the desired spot. Right there, she mutters sweating slightly. Seizing the moment, a pale arm swings staple gun with all her might towards the corner of the door. Squeezing the handle tightly, a loud click of the spring rattles nosily. _Finally._ Grinning to herself, proud blue eyes gaze upon the small area of the banner that hangs by a thread, or in this case a staple. Her torso moves forward to staple again, but immediately halts. In complete silence, a harden gaze watches the top staple pop right out and the banner hit the floor. A few moments pass of her staring at the pile of fabric with a blank expression.

"Fuck me."

At this moment, she is ready to abandon all hopes. Actually, Clarke is ready to grab some damn duct tape and plaster this insubordinate banner against the wall. _Maybe, just maybe, if she stuffs it in Old Bertha's trunk and claim it was stolen, the club would believe her. No one will ever know,_ she thinks almost laughing manically. A soft chuckle from behind breaks her irrational thoughts.

"At least let me take you to dinner first."

Running a hand through her hair, she turns around about to unleash a wrath of frustration upon this person. Her muscles seize before uttering a single word. Lexa, Lexa Woods, the very attractive new girl stands in front of her. Biting her plump bottom lip, hands stuffed in pockets of her black ripped jeans and a sheepish, almost nervous, expression, she moves closer. _Oh my word._ The blonde swallows thickly. Blue eyes travel from the intricate twine of a braid to the tan collarbone peeking out from underneath a white cotton shirt before snapping back up to meet the most striking green eyes she has ever seen. Those remarkable orbs filled with uncertainty and a hint of amusement gaze back at the shocked ones. Noticing the effect her presence is having on the blonde, those luscious lips quirk up into a sly smirk.

"Uh,"

Clarke tries to remember how to speak. Yet, her body, mind and soul seem to be short circuiting. _Speak damn it._ Looking for words to formulate a comprehendible sentence, she never expects what escapes her lips.

Embarrassingly, the blonde blurts, "you're really pretty."

A small smirk breaks into a full grin, flashing those bright white teeth. And at that very moment, Clarke knew she was a goner. Silently, she prays for a sinkhole to appear under the unstable chair and swallow her whole.

A soft husky tone, "Thank you, I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Immediately, Clarke bites down on her bottom lip as she feels her knees tremble under the intense gaze. _Oh fuck me_. A heat spreads across her cheeks. She wills her mind to utter something intelligent, or at least less embarrassing. _Use your words Clarke, use your words._ Staring back into those endless green eyes, Lexa, tentatively, takes another step forward. Clarke's brain screams, _abort, abort the mission._ Yet, like a block of ice, every muscle, every bone is frozen.

"I was heading home when I saw you struggling. I figured you could use some help since you are smaller than me. Wait, I am not saying you are short or anything since we are similar in height. But, I may have a few inches on you and really long arms. Well, I mean, not like freakishly long or anything like Mr. Elastic, but longer than yours. Fuck, not that you have- I don't know midget arms or anything, like uh, because when I was kid I saw that movie Merlin. And, he told the branch to grow to save his love an- well now I know he had magical powers, but he made it grow. So I used to say that to my arms whenever I wanted to reach the cookie jar sitting on the top shelf. Eventually, I was able to reach it. I mean- because of puberty of course not because I am a Wizard, Harry," Lexa froze with a horrified expression. "I cannot believe I just said that. Uh, ah, help, right, can I help you?"

Clarke, blankly, stares at the girl who is rubbing palms against the sides of her jeans. A few seconds later, the bumbling girl watches the blonde burst into a fit of laughter. Howling like a hyena, Clarke leans forward on her knees. _She's a dork._ The blonde body shakes uncontrollably as Lexa crosses her arms over her chest with a huff of fake annoyance.

"You're laughing at me."

Quickly standing up red faced, Clarke shakes her head side to side with a tight lipped grin. She wanted to burst into laughter again, it was taking every ounce of strength not to do so. But, the cute pout of those plump lips and wide eyes has her body staying quiet. A pout forms into a small smile before Lexa shakes her head in disbelief at the events unfolding.

"Please, let me help you."

The statement was so soft, so gentle in her request. Acting with her heart, Clarke begins to step down as long, slim fingers wrap around her forearm in assistance. _Oh._ Several valiant attempts were made to ignore the heat spreading from the protective touch throughout her body. With her heart racing, the blonde stands in front of Lexa. The tan hand continues to grip her arm. A soft scent of ocean perfume fills her nostrils as the athlete moves closer.

"Uh sorry."

Quickly removing her hand, Clarke moves over slightly to give the taller girl access to the chair.

"If you could just hand me the banner," a nimble finger gestures to the floor.

Breaking Clarke out of her stupor, "Right, sorry."

Rushing over, pale hands hastily grab the edge of the banner and hoist it up. Almost mesmerized, the shorter girl watches tan arms easily reach up to secure the banner against the wall. A stunned gaze saunters down those nimble fingers to toned biceps, noting the strong curve of her shoulders, down the length of her torso and stopping at the tan skin peeking out from underneath white shirt. _Oh my, my._ zeroing in on those sharp, jutting hipbones, a tongue slithers out to lick her lips as her mouth dries. Eying the toned skin, she silently hopes the shirt slithers slightly higher to display tight abs.

"Clarke."

 _Busted._ Lifting her head quickly, she sees a smirking Lexa with an amused and smug expression once again. _So smug._ Red hot heat burns her cheeks as the blonde girl blushes in embarrassment.

"I need to get down so I can move the chair to the other side. So you need, to uh-move."

Clarke nods quickly, "Uh, right sorry."

Shuffling out of the way, the silent artist watches as the other girl effortlessly moves about. Hooking her arm around the back of the chair, the blonde's stares at Lexa. Wandering blue eyes travel down the back of the athlete to admire the perky asset of her backside. She is a creeper. She is fully aware how much of a perv she is being at this very moment. But, it's been awhile. And second, she has no control of her body right now.

"Clarke."

Breaking her gaze, "Yea?"

"I need the banner."

"Right, uh sorry."

She walks over to the tall girl who is already standing on the chair, with that stupid knowing smirk, waiting patiently. _So fucking smug._ Lifting the rest of the banner up, nimble fingers brush slightly against pale ones. Clarke feels a shiver run down her spine when their eyes lock once more. _Wow._ The artists could feel her walls and irritation with this damn banner melt away. A hint of amusement dances before those green eyes as embarrassed blues shy away, a cat and mouse game.

"Ahem."

Yanking her hand back as if she was burned, Clarke glances over to see Jasper standing there, eyebrow raised playfully. The blonde clenches her fist knowing full well the useless boy will gossip to their friends about this moment. A shit-eating grin sits upon his face while brown eyes dart back and forth, already formulating his own conclusion about what he just witnessed. Recovering quickly, Clarke slugs him in the shoulder.

"Where the hell did you go asshole? I was struggling for ages. Thank god someone had the common decency to help me."

Jasper smirks, "Yeh, thank god for a beautiful brunette coming to save the blonde damsel in distress. How will you ever repay her, Clarke?"

Shooting a warning glance at the annoying boy, angry blue eyes silently tell him to shut the gaping hole on his face. Jasper's grin widens as stares back saying, I'm going to Raven and Octavia. Unbeknownst to the two, the green-eyed girl finishes and hops down.

"No worries, it was all in a day's work. You know, gotta keep the streets safe for beautiful girls like this little lady." Lexa mocks as she puffs out her chest. Standing up tall with her balled fists sitting on her hips, "I must be going. Duty calls!"

Clarke watches in awe as the athlete, swiftly, slings the black satchel over her head. The black strap of the bag rests against the nape of her neck and runs diagonally down her torso towards her hip. The blonde licks her lips as her eyes follow the trail. A nudge from Jasper causes blue eyes to snap back up to meet green. Backing up slowly, with a cheeky grin, Lexa throws her a wink.

"I'll see you around Lois Lane."

Before the artists could respond, the new girl is out the door and sprinting down the steps. Still staring at the same spot, Clarke blinks repeatedly. The shaggy haired boy moves closer.

"Oh she is good. She is real good."

And Clarke finds herself nodding in agreement. _Oh she is so screwed._


	3. Chapter 2

Two days later, the artist is still in awe. A star struck Clarke, finds her mind drifting off into a fantasy world starring a chestnut haired, green-eyed beauty. Superman, or Supergirl, faster than a speeding bullet, Lexa flew in and out in a matter of seconds. Rocking the blonde to the core, internally, her organs have become a jumbled mess. Thinking of Lexa's smile causes fluttering in her belly. In moments of weakness, tiny sparks of arousal shoot down at the thoughts of touching, stroking that toned abdomen. Gripping the toned arm as golden locks whip back in ecstasy when plump lips touch the sensitive spot of a pale pulse point. Indeed, the brunette infiltrated every part of her being. Mysteriously, Lexa was a rubic cube; and subsequently, Clarke wanted nothing more to twist, turn, and complete the puzzle that is this girl.

Unfortunately, for the past few days, the blonde also finds herself dodging a good majority of interactions with friends. Trust, it was not because of anger. Nope, the repeated teasing about the very tiny, the size of a crumb, interaction with Lexa has been too much to bare. After the very strange encounter with the brunette, Jasper, despite promising not to do so, hinted to Octavia about the "spark" between the two. Mind you, hinted meaning explaining in grave detail with an abundance of footnotes citing a first-hand account of their meeting. Unsurprisingly, Octavia gossiped to Bellamy, who messaged Finn, who whispered to Raven and so on. You could only imagine the flood of text messages she received about the incident. As a result, yesterday, much to the blonde's dismay, lunch had been anything but ordinary. On the contrary, Murphy, being the asshole he is, made several suggestive, yet crude comments about the toned physique of the brunette; which caused the blonde to see streaks of dripping crimson. If it was not for Bellamey, Clarke would have lunged over the table to stab the boy's throat with a plastic spork. Then, if that was not bad enough, Raven and Octavia proceeded to start a group message, dubbed Operation Clexa, to strategize how to assist the artist in winning over the girl's heart. Clarke loves her friends, truly and deeply. But, sometimes, an overwhelming desire to shove them all off a bridge with no life vests on, during a tsunami, overcomes the blonde's mind every so often. Which, brings us to this very moment, Clarke darting through the crowded corridors to escape the wrath of a foe.

"Clarke, wait up!"

A pair of jean clad legs pick up their pace. Knowing who the voice belongs to, Clarke mutters defiantly, "no!"

In attempt to flee the scene like a murderer, the blonde hastily pushes through the crowd and noisy halls. Receiving strange looks from peers, she ducks behind the bannister before peering out from behind. Desperately searching for an exit, interruption, or a place to hide, blue eyes flicker from wall to wall. No, not today. Squeezing through narrows passages between groups of students, the blonde can tell the girl is hot on her tail.

"Griffin," the cheerleader begins, "I just want to talk."

Like hell you do. Costia's slim hand wraps around a hustling elbow mid-swing. Shit. Blue eyes turn to find green ones staring back, a threatening look etched on their face.

"What?"

Without another word, the slightly taller girl yanks the blonde into the closest empty classroom. A small shove causes Clarke to stumble inside with a small squeak. Son of a bi-. Immediately, arms shoot out as palms brace themselves against the edge of a wooden desk. Thinking to herself, the blonde wishes she had waited for Octavia to accompany her to lunch.

A click of a lock, "so, Clarke, it's been awhile since we have chatted one on one."

"What do you want Costia?"

Quickly, the shorter girl stands up straight then turns around. Casually, the cheerleader leans against the door. Arms crossed, effectively covering the uniform's letters of Arkadia, she shifts so sun-kissed legs cross at the ankles. Although her body language did not present itself as threatening, the look plastered on her face says otherwise.

A click of the tongue, "always one to never beat around the bush. I'm glad that hasn't changed. It was one of the things I liked the most about you."

Clarke scoffs, "seriously, what do you want? I'm going to assume you didn't throw me in here to reminisce or talk make-up tips."

Coolly, the cheerleader pushes of the door to glide over, "and always so perceptive. Nothing gets by you, now does it Griffin?"

"You are trying my patience."

A loud chuckle, or to Clarke, cackle rings through the empty space. Curly chestnut hair bounces when a head leans back exaggeratingly, "always the kidder as well. You know, you are about as intimidating as a Chihuahua." Pale hands ball into fists as the girl continues, "such a loud yap, never a strong bark. Either way, I'm here to talk business."

Costia hoists herself up to sit upon a student desk. Ankles crossing once more, she leans forwards smirking while long fingers wrap around the edge of the surface.

"It has come to my attention that we, shockingly, have similar interests in a particular someone. It also seems said person has taken quite an interest in you. And frankly, I have an issue with this," Costia tilts her head innocently. "Although, I do find this rather amusing, considering you seem to be under the impression that someone like you has a shot."

Arms cross over her the purple material of a plain t-shirt while the artists continue to glare. The harden gaze of blue eyes bore back into green ones that sparkle with a hint of mischievousness.

"Someone like me? What is that supposed to mean?"

Throwing her head back cackling once more, "Oh come Clarkey, here I thought you were bright. You can't be serious?"

Clarke continues to scowl, waiting for the infuriating girl to explain herself.

Costia smugly grins, "you hang with a bunch of losers. You dress like you shop at a thrift store with a blindfold. You drive a used, broken down embarrassment for a car. All you have going for you are the two globes hanging from your ribcage and silly little doodles."

Biting her tongue, Clarke digs her nails into her palms. Breathe.

"I mean, let's be honest with ourselves for a moment. There is no competition. If someone had to choose between me and you, I would be the obvious choice," Costia smirks. "Look at me, I'm drop dead gorgeous. You, you are nothing but the silly, wholesome, little girl next door sweetheart."

A brief moment goes by as the two stare one another down. Throwing her hands in the air, "You're right, Costia. Okay, is that what you want to hear? Maybe you are prettier than me. Taller than me. Skinnier than me," Clarke spits out angrily. "But that doesn't change the fact you are a shallow, cold-hearted, manipulative bitch who gets off on tearing people down and making them feel like shit."

"You lure unsuspecting, innocent people by enchanting them with your beauty and snap their necks the first change you get," the blonde growls out. "You don't deserve someone like her, you selfish cow."

Shocked at the outburst, Costia leans back, as if catching a foul smelling odor, face full of contempt. A sly smirk turns into a frown as the blonde continues, "and trust me, I rather live a lifetime celibate than date someone who has shown any interest in you."

With a small hop, Costia, scowling, stalks closer to Clarke. Straightening shoulders, the blonde puffs her chest out as she meets green eyes in a menacing gaze. Blood pumping rapidly through her veins, the blonde can almost feel it pulsing in her temples.

"Look here Griffin, make no mistakes, I will not hesitate taking you down to get what I want." Costia steps closer, mere inches away whispering, "the girl is mine. So back down like the good little girl you are because things will get ugly."

"I'm not afraid of you Costia."

"Well, you should be," Costia retorts menacingly, stepping even closer. "I get what I want when I want it, Clarke. You should know that by now, second best."

Pale hands ball once again into fists, as the cheerleader pokes, "I guess you forgot about Niylah huh?"

"Shut up."

Costia snickers backing up, "aw, here I thought there were no hard feelings. It's not my fault she was looking for someone more," greens eyes rake over the rigid body, "well, let's say, more enticing."

Clarke swallows the lump forming in her throat, "you wormed your way in and stole her."

"And that's exactly what I plan to do with Lexa if you do not back down. This," she gestures dismissively, "is me being nice, maybe even considerate to your feelings. Once upon a time, we were friends. I'm just looking out for you. So, like I said, back down."

"Or what?"

Costia smirks evilly, batting her eyelashes before responding simply, "I'll ruin you."

The cheerleader acting as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Clarke bites her lip while furrowing her brows. A mental image of a winking Lexa flashes. A light tug on her heartstrings occurs when the girl recalls the shock of electricity emitted from a simple brush of their fingers.

"You are a bright girl Clarke. So, I'll just assume you won't be stupid and try to challenge me." Toned, sun-kissed legs take long strides toward the door, "as always Clarkeypoo, it has been a pleasure. Ta-ta."

And with that, Costia swiftly turns with a click of the lock. Swinging the door open, the cheerleader disappears into the sea of students. Wincing at the force of the door hitting a wall, the blonde remains rooted in her spot, seething. The audacity, the nerve of this girl. For her to act like the beautiful brunette is an object, a trophy, disgusts her. A sad pang causes eyelids to close with a deep inhale at the possibility of losing a chance with the athlete. Lexa, with those captivating emerald eyes, is a girl who is most definitely worth fighting for. Up until this moment, the blonde never felt such a yearning to challenge the cheerleader. Secure with herself, despite how Costia causes all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, Clarke never engaged, fought, or fed into the immature tactics. But, she can't help but feel this is different, too personal. Maybe it's the strong, immediate connection with Lexa feeding this moment of strength. Maybe, for once, the blonde hopes to be seen.

Fuck this. Opening once again, determined blue eyes stare at the white wall in the back. Oh yes, fuck Costia. Clarke smirks. Fuck second place. The artist will not sit on the sidelines watching as the cheerleader scores again. Pale fingers tug a phone out of the grey back pocket. Rapidly, fingertips tap dance against the sensitive screen to unlock the device. As Clarke makes her way out of the room, down the less crowded hall, a mass text is sent under Operation Clexa.

 _ **Clarke**_ _: Calling all Skykru, Princess is going for her Commander. I repeat, Princess is going after the Commander. This is not a drill. Man your stations, a battle is looming amongst the horizon led by the wicked, the dastardly, Siren Green. She has made her threats to stand down or war. But, Skykru, we will not surrender. Let it be war._

Almost immediately, the quick buzz of a vibration tickles her palm.

 _ **Raven**_ _: Aw shit, yes ma'am, off I go to fetch the powder kegs. Start collecting glass bottles everyone, I'll begin making the Poor Man's Grenade. I hope the Siren is preparing for defeat._

 _ **Octavia**_ _: If she wants a war then that is what she shall get. This Warrior will be honored to go into battle for the Princess. FOR PRINCESS!_

 _ **Murphy:**_ _You all are fucking weird. But, for Princess, I guess. *thrusts sword into air*_

 _ **Raven:**_ _Shut the fuck up, asshole. FOR PRINCESS! *waves hand full of grenades*_

 _ **Octavia:**_ _Yeah! *thrusts up sword* Murphy, a little more enthusiasm would not kill you._

 _ **Bellamey:**_ _Blasphemy, how dare the Siren speak to our Princess in such a vulgar manner. Troops, we must rally together, plan our attack and strike. With might, with fury, we must defeat this, alluring, soul sucking creature. FOR PRINCESS!_

 _ **Murphy**_ _: Dear god, you all have gone mad._

 _ **Finn:**_ _When the moon is at its highest, we shall plan. Striking from the north, south, west and east, the Siren will not stand a chance. FOR PRINCESS!_

 _ **Jasper:**_ _Monty and I agree, it would be an honor. FOR PRINCESS!_

 _ **Murphy**_ _: You all disgust me._

 _ **Clarke:**_ _I am headed North to the dining hall for our feast. Let us discuss this more then. I thank thee for your loyalty. FOR COMMANDER!_

Picking up the pace, grey-jean covered thighs push into a speed walk. A warning bell has already shrieked throughout the halls. Wincing, the blonde's ear whimpers at the loud shrill of a final bell to signal starting of classes. Thankfully, as a tumble weed rolls across the ceramic tiled floor, the blonde can collect herself. A few stranglers shuffle, more like power walk, to avoid the inevitable detention slip for tardiness. As she approaches the cafeteria, the loud chatter behind doors can be heard. Today, Clarke is eating lunch from a brown paper bag, which means she narrowly avoids the long lines of starving students. Turkey, cheese, lettuce and tomato on whole wheat bread, wrapped in plastic wrap, sits inside waiting to be devoured. After the vending machine robs the blonde for overly priced water, Clarke finds her usual table. All the way in the back of the spacious room, the last table is occupied by her friends. Upon spotting the blonde, Bellamey immediately jumps up to bow to her presence.

"Princess, how good it is of you to join us. Come," he gestures smiling playfully. "Take a seat upon your throne. Council is ready to begin."

Laughing, a pale hand lightly shoves a muscular, jersey-covered shoulder. As Clarke takes a seat next to Raven, an arm wraps around her shoulder. Blue eyes dart up to meet smiling hazel ones while the mechanic takes a bite of her apple.

"Now, tell us, why hath you called this meeting?" Octavia asks leaning forward on her elbows. "What awful, treacherous things have the slithering Siren said'th to you?"

Pulling out her sandwich Clarke smiles as Murphy scoffs, "seriously? Still? Jesus fucking Christ, I need to make new friends."

"Good luck finding anyone who would want to be friends with your trailer park ass, Dickface Sir'Complainsalot." Raven snaps back.

Emori rolls her eyes as Murphy scowls before hugging her side, "you're one to talk, Bitchy McBitchums."

"That the best you got, anal sucking piece of shit?"

A few moments pass before Raven throws him a smile, which he returns with an eye roll. Jasper slams his fist on the table, "counsel please, let the Princess speak."

All eyes flicker upon the blonde who swallows then places the sandwich down. Rubbing her hands together, Clarke sighs.

"Well my fellow counsel members, the siren has chosen today to make threats."

Bellamey asks, "Threats, for what purpose love?"

"To keep'eth me away from thee Commander," Clarke replies smiling.

Blue eyes watch as they murmur to one another, "Siren Green has made'eth it clear that there shall be a war on our house if I was to pursue courtship with the Commander."

"Fuck'eth that bitch," Murphy chimes. "If she want'eth a war, she shall get'eth just that."

"Yes well, you all know, Siren Green has been a foe to the Griffin house for more than a century. Dating back to the times of diapers and dolls, the enticing Siren has made'th a point to ruin'eth my life." Clarke smirks, "but, she shall not prevail this time."

"With your help, my loyal friends, allies, and companions, I shall be victorious. I will win'eth the hand of the Commander."

As the table began to holler in acceptance, the blonde nodded with a small smile playing at her lips.

Octavia says, "what shall we do to help'eth thee?"

Finishing her sandwich, Clarke nods, "well, you see, the Siren with her wicked and vindictive ways, never fights fairly. I am afraid, she shall seek blood. And as you all kno-"

A chorus rang out, "blood must have blood."

"Exactly," Clarke nods firmly, "therefore, as of right now, we shall wait patiently until she make'th the first move. Then we will strike."

"But," Raven interrupts, "what about the Commander?"

Clarke sighs, "I am unsure at the moment how I will go about this. But, make no mistake, I will fight with all my might to win my lady's hand."

"Well, I think'eth, you may need our help'eth with that."

The blonde glares at Murphy, "Sir ShitsALot, what'eth are you trying to imply?"

"You have'th no game."

Murmurs around the table continue, Octavia, "all that agree, say I."

Another chorus of "I."

"Mutiny!" Clarke gasps in feign shock.

As Raven and Octavia began to talk about ways the group can assist the blonde talk to the Commander, Clarke spots Costia. Piercing green eyes throw daggers in her direction once more. Shifting slightly, blue eyes glances back down.

What has she gotten herself into?

After a rousing lunch of dating advice from her motley crew, Clarke ran to her locker and headed towards Chemistry. Excitedly, the blonde practically skips into the room with a grin on her face. Upon entering, blue hues look towards Raven, which causes all of her muscles to seize up. Shit. Sitting in the desk in front of the mechanic is the blonde-haired girl from the other day. Bitch. Clarke semi-glares, rude, this girl's big ass head blocked her view of Lexa these past few classes. Flickering back over to Raven, the mechanic is laughing about something the girl said. Eyes dart to her seat before landing upon the person in front of it. Lexa. Fuck. Me. Lexa, the Commander, is sitting with perfect posture, her body leaning towards cheekbones. Swallowing the huge lump in her throat, shaky palms rub against grey jeans.

Raven, finally, spots the blonde and throws a wink at her. Of course. Clarke knows this is her doing. If not her idea, one of the delinquents she refers to as friends must have strategized this brilliant idea. Meanwhile, as the blonde stands there in shock. Costia sits in her usual desk, up front, glaring at the flustered girl. Knowing full well, Lexa moving to sit across the room was Clarke's doing. A small hulk thrashes deep down in the chestnut haired girl's stomach. Smirking to herself, a slim cheerleader body slithers down in her seat. Long leg stretch out, innocently, peeking out from underneath the desk.

Clarke, snapping out of her stupor, feels her jelly legs beginning to walk. Keeping her eyes trained on the luscious, wavy locks of auburn hair, pale hands continue to nervously run against her thighs. Shit. Suddenly, the mesmerizing view of Lexa disappears behind a desk as the blonde's face meets the cold, tiled floor. As the blonde's heel rose, a warmness hooked around the ankle and tugged. Stumbling forward, almost immediately, pale arms stretch out to brace for impact; eyes squeezing shut. The echo of palms slamming against the tile floor as the weight of her body crashes down rings out. Luckily, the blonde manages to turn her head to the side, narrowly avoiding a bloody nose. Unfortunately, a pale cheek connects with the hard ground while a grunt falls from her lips.

"Fuck! Clarke!"

Raven, the blonde could hear shuffling growing closer. With her eyes squeezed shut, a groan escapes from pink lips as the dull pain kicks in. A soft hand grazes her back before pushing the golden locks away. Opening her eyes, a worried gaze from emerald eyes scan blue ones. Lexa cups her uninjured cheek, letting the tan thumb stroke the skin there, "are you alright, Clarke?"

With such caring touch from the brunette, the artist's body hums in content. Pale lips move to respond, but stop upon hearing Raven.

A shout, "are you fucking serious?"

Moving to sit up, Lexa assist by grabbing her elbow. "Careful."

Blue hues flicker over to see Raven being helped back by high-cheek bones girl. Costia sits there with an innocent face, she shrugs. "Calm down Reyes, it was an accident. Right Clarkey?"

Smirking green eyes meet dazed blues, "Rae, just drop it."

"But she-"

"What's going on here?"

Standing at the doorway is a menacing Pike. Quickly, Clarke stands up with the help of Lexa. Slightly stumbling once more, a tan arm grasps the elbow of the blonde to gently steady the girl.

"I accidently tripped sir, that's all."

Raven snorts, "accidently my ass, Costia did that shit on purpose."

Pike bellows out, "Reyes, language, I will not tell you again." Black eyes direct to Costia, "Ms. Green, did you have any responsibility in Ms. Griffin's fall?

Costia sits up with a sweet smile, "no sir, it was all an accident. I guess Clarke is a bit clumsy since she tripped on her own two feet." She continues, "but, I must say, she landed so gracefully."

Bitch.

"Enough Ms. Green," Pike glares at the girl, "Clarke, would you like to go the nurse?"

Blonde hair shakes back and forth, "no sir, I'm fine. I'll just sit down."

Pike nods before making his way over to his desk. Dismissing Raven and Anya back to their seats, the brunette and the blonde gaze upon each other.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lexa asks softly.

A long index finger raises to stroke the bruise, already forming, on a pale cheek. Wincing slightly, blue eyes watch as emerald ones' scan over the assortment of black, blue, and purple. A small gasp slides out of pink lips as her breath catches.

Clarke replies, "y-yes"

"Ahem," a deep throat clears behind the taller girl. "This is not the Young and the Restless or any other soap opera, girls. Please take your seats." Pike orders with an eye roll.

Quickly retracting her hand, Lexa shoots Clarke a tiny, sheepish smile, "sorry."

"Oh trust me Commander, Princess doesn't mind at all." Raven says walking by the two smitten girls with a smug smirk.

Following Lexa back to their seats, the blonde throws a quick glance towards Costia. Scowling, arms crossed over her chest, Costia glares at her. Totally winning. Throwing the cheerleader smirk, the blonde shifts her backpack off her shoulders and onto the floor before sliding into her seat. Lexa turns her body to the side to stretch her legs into the aisle once more. The mechanic touches her friend's arm.

"You sure you are okay? That's a nasty ass bruise already forming." Raven said softly, fingertips gliding over the cheek.

Blushing, Clarke swats the hand away. "It's fine."

"The bitch is lucky Anya held me back or I would be serving it to you for dinner on a silver platter. Apple stuffed in the mouth and everything," the mechanic scoffs aggravated. "She's lucky I don't slash her tires for that little stunt."

Anya smiles approvingly, "I like the way you think cutie."

"You should, I'm awesome."

And with that, Clarke rolls her eyes. Turning her gaze ahead of her, emerald eyes stare at her. Blushing slightly, Lexa looks away quickly. Skip, the steady thumping of the blonde's heart jumps after catching the girl's lingering gaze.

"So, Superman, fancy seeing you over here."

A small smile engulfs plump lips, "well Lois, I needed to be closer to the window, you know, in case duty calls."

"Oh yes, would not want to keep you from saving the world," Clarke says laughing slightly.

Emerald eyes twinkle with playfulness, smirking, "one damsel in distress at a time."

"Well aren't you too fucking cute."

Blue eyes flicker over to Anya and Raven who both have Cheshire cat grins. Hazel and green eyes flicker between the two girls, plotting.

"Shut up, Anya," Lexa grumbles embarrassed.

Anya smirks, leans forward, and outstretches her hand, "I'm Anya, Superman's cousin. You must be Lois Lane, huh Clarke? I have heard so much about you these past two days."

While shaking the girl's hand, blue eyes flicker back to mortified emeralds, "so you talk about me?"

"I,uh-wel-" Lexa begins, "you see-"

Pike interrupts, "alright slackers, quiet down. Turn to page ten in the text book so we can start another exciting lecture about things none of you will remember by midterm."

Saved. Grinning Lexa, after throwing the blonde a wink, turns around in her seat. Damn. Blue eyes flicker over to the mechanic who still has that stupid grin on her face. Of course, Clarke will be hearing from Octavia tonight. Anya, smirks as well, except it is directed to her cousin. Hurriedly, opening up her book, straightening her back, Clarke gazes towards the board. The blonde ready to scrawl words into her notebook, copying the presentation. However, it seems, her attention gets lost in translation since cerulean eyes end up studying the back of the girl's head. Blue orbs scanning the wavy, chestnut hair pulled over the shoulder. Clarke lick her lips at the smooth, tan skin peeking out from underneath the collar of a fitted dark grey button up. Continuing to gaze, Clarke outlines angular shoulders straining against the material before sliding down the straight back. Catching herself, the blonde scolds herself at being such a creeper when a busty torso attempts to lean forward for a better view. A clouded mind already picturing the tan, smooth skin underneath the article of clothing. Fingertips tingling as Clarke fantasizes of gliding against the muscular back, dipping in and out of curve of a long spine. Immediately, she pulls out the sketch book, light scribbles of lines begin to form the shape of Lexa's back.

And may Clarke say, it is one fine back.

Arriving at Ark Middle School, the frazzled blonde is out of breath. Kicking Old Bertha's door closed, hurriedly, legs take long strides across the empty quad. Fresh cut green grass, slices into two from the grey cement of the sidewalk. At the tops of tall oak trees are bundle of green with a few hints of yellows and reds. Bushes, benches outline the path and presses against red brick of the building. Breathing heavily, the blonde approaches the door. Yanking it open, she walks forward to the center of the room, sneaker squeaking against the polished linoleum. Across from the entrance is a small desk. A stocky, dark man sits behind the furniture, looking like a giant. Lazily, a pair of large feet are kicked up on the table while two hairy, dark skinned hands fold together to sit upon a slight pouch of a belly. A head tilts forward with a black cap reading security to cover friendly blue eyes; Earl naps.

Tugging a package of donuts out of her bag, Clarke quickly moves to sign in. A loud snore echoes the corridor as Earl wakes himself up, startled.

"I wasn't sleeping," he mutters immediately.

Clarke lets out a small chuckle, "secret is safe with me Earl."

The older gentleman grins as she hands him the small package of powdered donuts. "Ms. Griffin, how are you? Here for art therapy I see."

"I'm good and yep. This year, I am volunteering instead of participating." Clarke asks politely, "how are you? Obviously, not getting enough sleep."

He laughs loudly, "you can say that again. You try having newborn triplets then talk to me. They are exhausting."

"I bet, I hate to cut this short," Clarke gestures down the hall, "But, I gotta go! I'm running late."

Earl nods with a kind smile, "thanks for the donuts. Have a good class!"

With a quick goodbye, curvy legs rush down the corridor. Blue lockers lined up against the walls, numbers descending as the girl passes classroom after classroom. Taking a left down at the end of the hall, she shifts the messenger bag full of supplies. Clarke recalls the first time she walked down these halls to go to art therapy. Art was always a hobby, never a possibility for a career. Every year for her birthday, Jake, her father, made it a point to purchase tubes of paints, pencils, sketch books, and brushes. Confused, the little girl would take the presents gratefully. Jake always seemed to see something in the blonde that she did not. And when Abby and her began to argue about future career plans, intervening, Jake always said to follow her dreams, never settle. Do something your passionate about and can't live without. Something that leaves you satisfied at the end of the night, yet still craving it the next morning. Before the death of her father, the blonde would have just smiled politely, or nodded, not really comprehending the wisdom bestowed upon her.

Clarke, being close to both her parents, always found solace with her father. Jake, a great, loving man who never judged and accepted everyone as they were was taken too soon. A life cut short the hands of a man's actions of negligence, irresponsibility and carelessness. Nonetheless, even if Clarke tried, she could not recall a time when opening up to her father proved to be a challenge. A great listener, a confidant, and her best friend, Jake Griffin was an amazing soul. Naturally, after his death, life became a little colder, a little darker, and a whole lot emptier. The loss left an agonizing void within the blonde. A young heart yearned to hear the deep, bellowing of her father's voice shouting to wake up for school. A stifling longing to see blue eyes light up as a flour war broke out during pizza nights. Quickly, a mourning Clarke found herself questioning, analyzing every aspect of her life. All of the emotions swimming within her became a heavy burden weighing on her heart. A burning of guilt wracked the busty form whenever she would laugh or smile. No longer would the home be filled with his deep, infectious laughter. There will be no loving smile that brightened up her room on those dark nights when a noise from her closet caused her to quake in fear.

Eating less, talking to few, the blonde closed herself off to the world. Burrowing deeper into the hole, all she wanted was to disappear. Eventually, Clarke began to sleep the days away. It was easier to live without her father this way. Staying awake meant acknowledging the fact he was gone, leaving her to deal with the ghost, memories of him. At least when she slept, the tall man was still her dreams. Worriedly, Abby began to seek external help for her daughter's downward spiral into depression. After much bickering, the blonde agreed to visit a therapist. However, Clarke found it pointless. Talking meant acknowledging his departure from this world and the blonde could not do that. On the contrary, pale fingers wanted to desperately cling to the untainted memory of her father. As she spiraled deeper, one day, Abby stumbled upon Art Therapy. Nyko, the blonde's current boss, held two different groups for children and teens. Upon hearing the word art, the blonde immediately shut the idea down. Firing missile after missile like a fighter jet, she shot down any reasoning with the harrowing truth that her artistic abilities developed because of Jake. It was their thing and the blonde could not fathom picking up a piece of charcoal ever again. Eventually, a persistent mother got a reluctant Clarke to attend a solo session before a group. And that first day changed her perspective on everything. Instead of Art being a distant memory of a best friend it transformed into a way of expression. Instead of drawing silly cartoons, angry stokes of the brush became treacherous stormy seas and ship wrecks. In this therapy, Clarke could sketch, mold, or paint fears, anxieties and troubles. It allowed the blonde to feel without criticism, pity, or under intense scrutiny. She didn't have to talk. Emotionally, if there were things that could not be said, it would be drawn. And with each session, breathing became a little less heavy. Life became a little lighter.

"Clarke, can I speak to you a moment?"

Nyko, licensed psychologist and her boss, walks over. Fiddling the bottom of his red tie, the man smiles kindly at the blonde. As she places the bag down, Clarke straightens out her black button up. Moving towards him, she pulls her hair up, and twists into a messy bun. A few strands fall out to frame the round face.

"Sure, what's up?"

A small smile, "well it's your fist day as a volunteer. And lucky you, I already have a something for you to do."

"Mhmm, I'm all ears."

Nyko gestures to sit down, which she complies with. "Well," he starts, "we will have a new participant to the program this year."

Clarke nods happily, "that's great."

"Very. But," he pauses slightly unsure, "the boy is a special case. We have yet to encounter a situation such as this. But, I've been mulling it over, and I think you will be able to help him tremendously."

The blonde bites her lip with reluctance written all over her face. Art therapy has been a best friend during a dark troubling time. Without a doubt, when Nyko invited her to volunteer as one of the artists, she quickly jumped at the sweet suggestion. Spending all summer training with the physiologist, Clarke is ready to help in any way possible. But, a special case seems to be more for a professional rather than a volunteer, especially a newbie.

"You see," he sighs, "the boy, Aden, has not spoken for almost a year."

Eyebrows shoot up in surprise as Clarke listens attentively. Nyko leans forward on the desk, folding his hands. "Considering this is a group art therapy program, I am unsure how receptive he will be to the large group. My partners and I at the counseling center have been working with him during the summer."

Nyko pauses with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Unfortunately, no treatments or activities have been successful. To be honest, this is a last ditch effort. We figure if he does not want to talk about anything, maybe we can entice him to draw it instead."

Clarke nods before asking, "Why me though? Wouldn't it be more effective to have a licensed professional working with him?"

"Of course, which is why I will be observing closely," Nyko agrees. "I'm not going to hang you out to dry Clarke," he says laughing and Clarke smiles. "But, I think you will be good for him."

A brief pause once more.

"You see, Aden, has suffered great loss. As you know, I am unable to go into great detail about his case. But, basically, at a very young age, his father abandoned his mother and sister. A few years later, he lost his mother as well," Nyko explains.

The blonde feels a sympathetic tug in the pit of her stomach. No child should have to live life without one parent, let alone two, especially at such a young age.

"Well, to say the least, it was a violent manner in the way she died." He sighs, "Unfortunately, Aden had been present at the time, witnessing the whole ordeal."

A soft gasp left her lips and Nyko nodded solemnly, "and since then, he hasn't uttered one word. It is not uncommon for someone to exhibit such behavior after a loss or traumatic event. However, Aden has not yet dealt with any of this."

Nyko rubs his chin, "we don't want to push him of course. All we are aiming for is him to express himself."

A few moments pass, Clarke digests the information while Nyko watches children walk in and place their stuff on other tables. "You see," he begins once more, "I chose you since you also know what the loss of a parent feels like. You are such a gentle soul, Clarke. Very open, warm, and inviting to those who are seeking a place to feel accepted."

At those very words, Clarke felt her heart soar with pride.

"He needs someone who is going to be gentle, soft, and caring with him. I figured, you could do some of the separate activities, one on one, with him. I will be close by to keep an eye on things." Nyko explains, "I don't want to scare him. So, a one on one session may be a little easier. Plus, you're a fantastic artist. Maybe you will inspire him."

Clarke smiles kindly, "thank you. I must say, I am a little nervous. But, I would happily work with him."

Nyko beams as he rolls up his sleeve, "okay, good. So, when he come in, I will bring him over to you. For today's session, I want you to talk to him, ask him questions. If he doesn't respond, you can just answer the question about yourself or go on to another," he says grinning. "Then, I want you to have him draw or paint his emotions."

"Okay, sounds good. I'll just set up some stuff right now."

Nyko nods as they both stand up, "thank you Clarke."

"No need to thank me, Nyko! I just hope art therapy can help him like it helped me," the blonde responds genuinely.

Cerulean hues gaze lingers as she observes Nyko greets a few of his patients with a big hug. In this art room, there are six round mahogany tables. Each has about six stools around the circumference. Various paintings ranging from still-life to stick figures plaster the walls. It is a spacious room. Towards the back, large cabinets can be found, storage for art supplies. A sink is located at the far end of the room as well. Clarke, immediately, heads towards one of the cabinets to retrieve a few pieces of paper as well as an assortment of colored pencils. Just in case, a pale hands grabs a few bowls for paint.

As the blonde continues to set up for her first session, she can't help but think about their conversation. Aden, a young boy, witnessed the death of his mother. One could only imagine the events that occurred to cause him to shut down completely. In a violent way, what could that mean? Actually, it could be a variety of different things, gang-related, drugs, robbery, murder, or wrong place at the wrong time. Immediately, a pang of guilt hits her core. She shouldn't speculate nor should she be this curious about a tragedy.

But, unlike the young boy, the girl was not present when a half-lidded, slurring driver swerved into the lane of oncoming traffic. Nor was she present when Jake attempted to dodge the runaway car heading straight for him. Thankfully, Clarke did not see his black sedan hit the guard rail with such a force that it flipped over and tumbled down a hill. Eventually, landing on the roof, the mangled piece of metal caught on fire. No, compared to this boy, the girl was lucky in a small way. Plus, there was Abby, her mom, to shield her from the replays on every news channel or prying eyes. She had her mother's shoulder to weep upon. It seems, Aden has no one. And Clarke's heart ached for him.

"Clarke!"

Glancing up from her sketchbook, Nyko approaches with a warm smile. Blue eyes flicker down to see a sandy-haired boy following suit. Aden. Mouth pressed in a thin line, cerulean, hollow eyes with bags of tiredness outlining them bore into the blonde.

"Yes?"

Clarke moves to stand up, Nyko nods. Kneeling down in front of the boy. Aden, stands there clutching upon a small notepad, knuckles white. The light blue, wrinkle free polo accentuates blue eyes. Upon the small torso sits black straps that disappear over this shoulder.

Sticking her hand out, she gives him a gentle smile. "Hi Aden, I'm Clarke. It's nice to meet you."

Quickly, Aden's left leg shoots out to the side. Momentarily, his legs are spread before sliding his right foot to meet his left, effectively hiding behind Nyko's leg. Sandy-hair pops out from behind the black dress pants, almost curiously. Yet, Clarke can see it in his eyes, fear.

"Aden, it's quite alright," Nyko coaxes. "This is Clarke, the one I told you about. She is really great at drawing stars and the night sky."

Worrisome eyes scan Clarke's face, observing, judging to see any hint of maliciousness. The blonde just gives him a warm smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle ever so slightly.

"It's okay," she says softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

A brief moments pass as Aden's left eyes slightly twitches, contemplating, before shuffling towards the girl. Standing a few inches away, Clarke can see the scar embedded against his cheek. The quiet boy shifts the notepad to one hand, eyes never leaving the blonde's before sticking his hand out.

"It's very nice to meet you," a pale hand takes his to shake. "I hope you are excited. We are definitely going to have lots of fun."

With a blank expression, he stares at her. Nyko pats him on the back slightly, "alright kiddo, this is what's going to happen."

Kneeling down, he places his large hand upon the small of Aden's back. The young boy continues to observe the blonde's every movement. She doesn't mind. Nyko continues, "you and Clarke are going to sit over here and complete a really fun activity."

Aden's head whips over to the man, frighten at the idea of being alone with a stranger. An overall sadness engulfs the blonde from the scene in front of her. It is unbearable to watch someone be so scared, so afraid of anyone he comes in contact with. An unsettling feeling washes over her like rain on a sunny day. At such a young age, Aden has learned this world is not full of rainbows and sunshine. No, more like heartbreak and sadness.

"I'll be around kiddo, don't cha worry," Nyko comforts. "Plus, if you're lucky, you can get Clarke to draw you something real cool like a superhero! Right, Clarke?"

Fearful blue eyes flicker back over, "yes, totally. I can draw almost anything."

The shaggy haired boy continues to stare at her before, reluctantly, shifting closer. Light squeaking of scuffed, dirty converses, Aden stands next to the blonde stiffly.

"Okay, well I have to go greet some other students. I will be back in a few. Have fun you too."

Watching Nyko's retreating figure, Aden glances back up towards the blonde. Clarke smiles, "how about we sit down and do some fun stuff?"

Following the blonde, the sullen-looking boy moves to sit upon a stool. Placing his notepad and pencil down neatly, small pale hands fold together to rest upon the surface. Under the interlocked fingers sits the blank paper the artist had just placed down.

"Do you want to take your backpack off?"

Eyes roll towards her as he shrugs it off and places it on the other side of the table silently. Clarke nods to herself, "good. So, like I said, I'm Clarke and I'm really excited to be working with you."

Silence, blank expression bores into her enthusiastic smile. Yep, this is going to be interesting.

"Okay, so today, we are going to draw or paint emotions," the blonde explains.

Grabbing a blank piece of paper, a pale hand lifts a yellow pencil. As she grips it, blue eyes quickly glance over to the boy. Curious cerulean eyes gaze upon the paper, waiting to see what the girl will do.

Clarke explains, "so, sometimes we feel certain things, but don't know what they mean."

A pale hand moves to the middle at the top of the page. Pressing upon the lead, the writing utensil tilts back as a black straight lines descends towards the bottom of the page. Ultimately, the once blank page, now, is sliced in half by a thick black streak.

"Sometimes, we know what we are feeling, but we don't know how to express them," tilting her head slightly, a neutral gaze meets hers.

Turning the page vertically, the pale hand, once again, moves to the middle at the top of the page. Pressing hard, the pencil descends downwards, effectively cutting the page in half again. A whole piece now broken up into four squares by black streaks. The blonde's gaze flickers over to meet curious blue eyes. From the moment he walked in, Nyko had been wrong.

Aden is expressing himself, his eyes. They say, they are the windows to the soul. And in this case, Clarke couldn't agree anymore. She admits, you have to look closely to see it. But, a small flicker of emotion graces his eyes every so often. Sometimes, like before when he was scared of Nyko leaving, you could visually see the worried lines of his forehead crease. It seems those types of expressions are a far and few. Yet, in his eyes, you can almost see what he is feeling.

"Okay, so each one these boxes will be an emotion," Clarke says pointing at one of them. Turning her gaze back to the boy, "do you know any emotions we can use as an example?"

Aden stares at the blank space then at the girl. Silence. Patiently, the blonde waits to see or hear an answer. Emotionless blue eyes, flicker around the room before landing upon a huge poster with a smiley face. Black bold letters screaming, turn that frown upside down. Catching this, Clarke tries to not smile to wide as she notices the gaze.

"Okay, how about happy?" she asks gently as curious eyes glance back towards her. This time there was something different swimming in the sea of blue. Clarke could not put her finger on it at all.

With a small head tilt, he stares expectantly. Yes. Clarke smiles, "I'm going to take that as a yes. So what we are going to do is label this box happy," soft scribbles fill the air. "Then we are going to draw a face, it could be a smiley one or a frog smiling, anything you want. But, I'm going to go with a monkey!"

A small flicker of excitement behind the blank expression, but the blonde does not see it. As she meticulously, draws two round circles for the monkey face, Aden observes quietly. Blue eyes slither over towards the golden blonde hair as he blinks. Traveling down, his inquisitive eyes trace down the black button up and land upon the drawing of a monkey once more.

"So, that is happy! What else do you think we can use?"

The blonde turns her head towards the boy, observing blue eyes flicker around the room once more. Searching for an answer, Clarke waits while leaning against her elbow. Finally, she sees his gaze stop and blue hues follow. Outside, Nyko seems to be attempting to handle a very agitated parent. With his hands up in submission, the psychologist nods his head understandingly. A tall man raises his fists, shaking them. Face red, the man continues to seemingly yell.

"Well, let's see anger, perhaps?" She asks. "What do you think Aden?"

Shaggy hair turns towards her to tilts slightly once more. Yes. A small smile plays upon her lips as she nods in agreement. Once she finishes drawing an angry monkey who is throwing bananas, briefly, blue eyes observe the corners of the little boy's mouth quick up. A fleeting moment, the small mouth only shifts the tiniest bit. But, Clarke, the artist could see it in his eyes. A small flicker of amusement at the caricature.

"Good, we have happy and angry! What else could we possibly use?"

Once again, silently, blue eyes search the room around them. Amongst the room various paintings are hung. Flowers, shadows, mountains, fruit, stick figures, an assortment of artwork completed by a group of students. Noticing a frozen gaze, the artists glances over. In the corner, a picture sits. A background of grey and black, a silhouette of a young girl sits in the middle of the room. Head tilted down, arms wrapped around herself, curled in a ball, the bright glow of the moon shines through a window to illuminate the girl who sits broken.

"How about sadness?" Clarke asks gently.

Shaggy hair shuffles at the head turn and tilts. Yes. As the pale hand moves to sketch a sad monkey with big blue watery eyes, she says, "You know, I always hate and like being sad."

A quick glance to see blank blue eyes on her, "I mean, everyone hates being sad right? But, it is always a good thing to be sad."

Clarke stops to see his face is remaining neutral, "because when we feel our emotions, it is better for us. Mentally, physically, it all affects us in different ways." She pauses, "but, it's okay to be sad. It's okay to be happy."

Blue eyes downcast towards the table, a pale hand stops its movement upon the paper. A gentle, comforting gaze lands upon Aden as he glances up with a small trace of puppy dog eyes. Clarke continues, "and when we let ourselves feel these emotions, especially the really yucky ones, we feel better in the end. Sadness is tricky though. It always creeps back in at the worse times."

Silence, she presses on, "but, when I'm sad, or even angry, I like to draw. Sometimes, I just angrily throw brushstrokes at a canvas or paint a rain cloud."

He gazes at her closely as she continues to drawing. "Sometimes, I also like to dance around in my underwear," Clarke grins then whispers. "But, don't tell anyone because that's a secret."

A small flicker of amusement passes through cerulean eyes before the rigid posture and tense shoulders return.

"Plus, the best part of being sad is the tubs of ice cream and all the Netflix you can watch." She grins, "that's my favorite part!"

Aden's hand twitches slightly while his shoulders remain tense.

"Alright, we have happy, angry, and sad. Do you think you know another one?"

Blue eyes do not search the room. No, like twig snapping under a foot, the neutral expression breaks. Tense shoulders slack and slump slightly as if someone removed a huge pile of weight. Down casted blue eyes look up to lock with the artist. Softening of the facial features, a slight jut of the bottom lip, Aden's tired blue eyes swarm with sadness and fear. Clarke feels the overwhelming sensation to pull the young boy in a hug. A heartbreaking expression etches across his face as if, for the first time, he is allowing someone to see. Quickly, his eyes shift towards the canvas of the girl sitting alone before meeting Clarke's blue eyes once more.

The blonde bites her lip trying to understand the other emotion he is trying to share with her. It's obviously supposed to evoke the emotion of sadness, maybe even fear. And it clicks.

"Scared," a soft whisper, "right?"

Eye flicker down before the head tilts to the side. Yes. Swallowing the lump that has formed in her throat, the pale hand moves to the last box and draws. A picture of a monkey, clutching a blanket to its chest as a shoulder curls in fright. Clarke glances back at the young boy to see him glaring at the picture. A harden gaze, blue eyes scan the figure with a slight quiver of a bottom lip. The artist cannot find the right words to say. Because in this moment, the boy is telling all.

"How are we doing over here?" Nyko asks smiling.

Quickly, a neutral expression graces the pale face as eyes dull. Damn. Clarke curses the man for interrupting.

"Good, I was just showing Aden-," she gestures down, "what he will be doing."

Nyko crouches down, "that's great. You ready to try doing it by yourself Aden?"

Silence, a blank stare, dull eyes, and lips pressed together in a thin line. Small fingers twitch slightly under the scrutiny while shoulders push back once more. Suddenly, a strong sense of familiarity tumbles through the blonde upon observing Aden's small, yet profound movements. Huh. As if the girl has witnessed a similar stance, Clarke finds herself at a loss from this familiar feeling.

"Okay, I'll leave you two to it."

After the man walks away, tiny shoulders slouch slightly as white knuckles release. Blue eyes flicker back at Clarke, waiting.

A small smile graces her lips, "okay, here is a pencil." A pale hand places one down upon the paper in front of him. "I also have some colored pencils. If you want to get all fancy that is," she throws him a wink. "Now, all you have to do is make your own using mine as an example. Remember, you can use draw faces of people, frog, superheros, anything."

"There is no wrong answers in art," she states encouragingly.

Silence, Aden continues to sit there. Small hands folded together upon the paper while his blue eyes bore into Clarke. Silently, the pair remain still waiting for the young boy to make a move.

"So, Aden, what's your favorite color?"

The blonde shifts to pull out her sketch pad, wanting to draw something inspiring for the youngster. With the silence engulfing the two of them, Clarke answers her own question,

Soft scribbles, "mine is green, forest green to be exact. It seems to have changed the other day."

Not glancing over at the boy, her right ear catches a sound of shifting. Normally, the artist would gaze over. But, she is too afraid to unintentionally cause him to shut down. So, hoping Aden is participating in the activity, the artists focus on her drawing, A small silhouette of a boy in an open field. In the distance, shadows of tress are shown. Head tilted up, the boy gazes up into the night's sky. Quickly, Clarke continues to sketch a clear, nights sky, riddled with thousands of glowing stars. A collection of twinkling specks creates the big dipper.

"Do you have a favorite movie?" Clarke doesn't bother waiting for an answer, knowing full there will only be silence. "I can't say I have an all-time favorite. But, I do like Disney movies, maybe even a little horror."

As she grabs a few colored pencils, blue eyes shift slightly to her left. The round, pink nub on top of the long yellow barrel swivels back in forth. A small hand clutches at the bottom of the base as Aden leans forward, shaggy hair covering his face, to hide the paper. A small feeling of happiness flutters in her chest as she smiles to herself. Biting her bottom lip, blue eyes flicker to peer over the boy's head. Nyko, with a small smirk, watches closely at the interaction. Two thumbs are thrown her way before she glances back down at her own artwork and continues to talk to the silent boy.

Time passes quickly after the small victory. Clarke spends her time coloring the sketch while asking random questions and answering. Surprisingly, Aden, silently of course, remains focused on the activity.

"Aden, your Aunt is here for you," Nyko says softly approaching.

Quickly, the young boy hastily folds the paper up into a small square. Once again, tense shoulders return, rigid posture, a neutral expression plasters small features. As a tiny hand grabs the black red backpack, Nyko remains quiet, waiting to see the boy's reaction. On the other hand, the artist, carefully, pulls the piece of sketch paper out of the pad.

"Well Aden, I had lots of fun working with you today, "Clarke says softly.

The shaggy haired boy turns to the blonde with a blank expression. A pale hand sticks out, "it was very nice meeting you. I hope you decide to come back next week again."

Shakily, a tiny hand grasps goes into shake a pale one. Instead, it jerks slightly to grasp onto her forearm. Despite being very confused, Clarke follows suit as blue eyes continue to stare at one another. A tiny nod from the small boy while warm grin graces her lips. Yes. She knows this is his way of saying, I'll see you next week. After letting go, slim fingers grip the small folded paper and press it into the blonde's palm, which she closes immediately.

"Before you go, here, "Clarke folds the sketch in half. "I made this for you. I'll see you next Wednesday."

A blank stare gazes at the paper before taking it. Grabbing his little notepad, Aden turns to follow Nyko. In the front of the room stands a very intimidating, almost infuriated, looking women. With shoulders back, an intense, almost judging, gaze pierces blue eyes. Slightly wincing, Clarke looks away from the rigid, postured women. She could see where the boy gets it from now. As the trio disappear in the hall, Clarke is left alone.

Curiously, nimble fingers open the small paper. Placing it upon the desk, cerulean hues scan the area. Aden did, indeed, follow the instructions. However, the emotions used upon the examples were abandoned. One could only assume, the young boy replaced the basic, meaningless, emotions with his own.

The top left corner is labeled "mad." A circle with yellow streaks of short hair represents a young boy. Black lines slant downwards above two round circles with blue dots in the middle. A line of up and down, jagged lines connect to form a mouth. On the other corner, labeled "scared," is another picture of a sandy-haired boy. This time, blue dots inside the round circles, eyes, are shifted to the side with blank lines slanted up. Connected to the head is a small torso, which has two stick arms wrapped around stick knees with a horizontal, upside down "c" representing a small frown. Blue eyes flicker to the bottom left, labeled "sad." This time, there are two faces. One of a shaggy haired boy with a tear rolling down his face. The second face of a blonde girl with a deep frown upon her face. Floating on the side next to her is a square labeled ice cream. Pink lips quirk up into a smile, realizing Aden had been listening; and was fully aware of the conversation she was having with herself.

"Little cheeky monkey," Clarke mutters grinning.

At the bottom right corner, labeled "home/safe," two faces are drawn once more. The same shaggy-haired boy except, the upside down "c" is right side up in a smile. Next to him is a picture of a girl. Brown hair, round circles with green dots and a black line quirks up into a small smile at the corners. The playfulness of the smile gleams back at the blonde. Hm. The artists stares at the drawing with a nagging feeling of familiarity once more, déjà vu almost.

"That went better than expected."

Jumping slightly, blue eyes meet Nyko's smiling ones, "you did great Clarke. It seems Aden has taken to you, which is rather shocking. It took, at least, five meetings for him to warm up to me." He squeezes her shoulder, "I knew you would do well."

Clarke nods silently as hands move to gather her supplies. In the meantime, Nyko picks up the crinkled paper to exam. Without a word, he places it into a manila file, most likely Aden's record.

"You made more progress in an hour than anyone has in months." Nyko beams proudly, "you know Clarke, maybe you have an enact for this after all!"

She smiles softly, "yeh, maybe I do. Anyway, I have to rush out on you, homework calls."

Nyko nods understandingly, "yes, very well. I will see you next week, same time."

"Yep, have a good rest of the week,"

And with that, Clarke slings the bag on her shoulder before making her way out. She had a great time. Working with Aden, one on one, was a very humbling experience. A rush of excitement for next week surges throughout her body. Being able to show another person the greatest part of art, the expression, inspires the blonde to pick up some charcoal, draw, and never stop. However, deep in her core, the nagging feeling of uneasiness with a hint of deja-vu continues to intensify. Something about the posture, the neutral to blank expression, the shoulders back and the drawing of the green-eyed girl, Clarke couldn't put her finger on. Like a captivating novel, the blonde feels herself course through a roller-coaster of emotions. Sadness for the boy, sympathy, confused, thrilled, it is a bit overwhelming. As if this is a mystery, Clarke has urges to solve, to close the puzzling case that is Aden. Most of all, deep down, a strong tidal wave of hope to help the young boy feel better, maybe even talk, splashes her belly.

Because when Clarke felt so alone. When she thought she had no one. There was always someone around for her to cry, scream, or talk to. Compellingly, Clarke finds herself wanting to be that person for young Aden.


End file.
